© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2016
Winter is almost over and while we await the appearance of our illusions of spring, we have begun that annoying little in between time-pothole season. Anyone who successfully makes it through this season is ready to tackle any slalom competition. Some years, the city is better than others in dealing with this annual phenomenon of potholes popping up (or sinking in) like a rash of inverted mushrooms through the pavement, asphalt eating car killer spores. One year they were so bad at a major intersection near my home, I referred to them as a series of recreational finger lakes, the largest of which I named Lake ——–(insert the name of the mayor of your city here).
Maybe a local radio station could host a contest to find the largest pothole in the city, offering a huge $$$ prize. But since this is one of the places in Murica that hasn’t had a booming financial recovery yet, and if you happened to have had a mayor that diverted municipal funds to frivolous projects constructed by his campaign contributing cronies instead of spending it on neighborhood improvement and educational and real economic and job creation opportunities, some of the good citizens might just make the holes bigger in order to win the prize. Well, there you go. Anyway, I wrote a little song, sung to the tune of “Springtime in the Rockies”.